Merry Christmas, Ginny
by whitetiger91
Summary: Everybody knows Santa exists; everybody except Fred and George. Can Ginny prove to them that he does, or will her Christmas be spoilt? Written for WindFlight13. Merry Christmas!


**Merry Christmas, Ginny**

 _ **A/N: This fic was written for the amazing WindFlight13 for the Secret Santa Gift Exchange on The Golden Snitch forum. Merry Christmas, Wind!**_

 _ **Special thanks to Raven of the Shadows for beta'ing for me :)**_

* * *

 _ **Two weeks before Christmas**_

Ginny dipped her favourite purple quill into the pot of equally purple ink that her mother had lent them. Ignoring the few drops that seeped into her piece of parchment as she held her quill over it, Ginny looked at what she had written so far:

' _Dear santer,_

 _I wuld like a toy_ _berx_ _broom for k—'_

So far, it looked perfect; it was the most important letter she would write this year, after all. This time she had even convinced her mother that she didn't need any help with it. Unfortunately, there was a big problem.

"Ron? Ron? I need your help. Ron! How do you spell Christmas?" she said, elbowing her brother in the arm.

Ron's arm slipped, causing him to scrawl a long, purple line across his own letter. He scowled at her and scooted his chair over a bit. "Look what you made me do! Spell it on your own."

Ginny pouted. Didn't he realise this was going to _Santa?_

"I bet you can't even spell it," she said with a sly smile, her quill poised above the parchment again.

Ron scrunched up his nose. "'Course I can. It's C-R-I-S-Mess."

Ginny hurriedly scribbled down each letter as he said them, pausing on the last part. She knew how to spell mess—she wasn't some dumb five-and-a-half year old anymore—but it didn't look too right. How could something so wonderful be messy?

"Merlin, Fred, I'm beginning to think we are the smartest ones in our family," one of the twins said.

Ginny looked up to see Fred and George standing in the kitchen doorway, smirking at Ron.

"Now, George, we mustn't be too harsh on widdle Ronniekins—it's not his fault he missed out on brains… or looks."

The twins shared a look for a moment before bursting into laughter. Ginny ignored Ron's indignant cry and turned back to her letter. She would show them she was the smartest of all.

"What are you Squiblets doing anyway?" Fred asked, covering the few steps to the table.

"You can't call us that!" Ron said, snatching his parchment away from Fred's hands. "Mum said so. Mind your own business."

Ginny looked up to see Fred trying to grab Ron's letter and covered her own with her hands. Letters were private; everyone knew that.

George, having followed Fred over to the table, picked up Ron's parchment whilst he was looking at Fred. "Uh-oh, Fred, I think we have a problem."

"I don't like the sound of that," Fred said, despite the wide, toothy grin still on his face. "Ooh! Is ickle Ronnie writing a letter to Santa?"

"Give it back!"

"Oh dear. Should we tell him, George?" Fred said, taking the parchment from George.

Ginny thought Fred looked rather sad, for his smile had disappeared. Her stomach gave a twist when she noticed that his lip started quivering. What was wrong? What did they have to tell him?

George frowned, shaking his head. "I dunno, it might break his heart."

"What? Tell me what?" Ron asked, leaning on the edge of his seat.

"Well…"

Fred and George looked at each other, and Ginny found her stomach continuing to knot up. Was there not going to be a Christmas this year? Was something wrong with Santa? Why did they look so sad?

She watched as Fred gave the parchment back to Ron and—

"Ouch! What was that for?" Ron said, rubbing the back of his head where Fred had smacked it.

"Don't be stupid. Santa isn't real," Fred said, his grin breaking out again.

George and Fred began to laugh again, faces growing almost as red as their hair. George wiped away a tear, fighting for control over his emotions as Ron sulked.

"Santa is real!" Ginny said, looking from Fred to George. "Don't lie! It's naughty."

All three brothers looked at her, Ron nodding in agreement. Smoothing out his letter, Ron picked up his quill and continued writing. Ginny held up her chin, determined not to back down, even as Fred and George glanced at each other and winked.

"Oh, yeah?" Fred asked, putting his hands on his hips and taking a step forward. Ginny suspected that it was meant to make him look scary, but the smile on his face ruined the effect.

Nodding vigorously, Ginny said, "Yeah."

Fred shared another look with George before asking, "Well, if Santa's real, then how does he get to every house in one night?"

"Yeah, how do you know it's not someone here putting the presents under the tree?" George chimed in, copying Fred and placing his hands on his hips.

Ginny scrunched up her nose. If she knew how to roll her eyes, she certainly would have done it then. Ron mightn't have been the smartest in the family, but neither were they.

"That's dumb. Santa flies in a sleigh using unicorn magic. _Everyone_ knows that," she said, mimicking the twins and putting her own hands on her hips with a smile.

George cracked a grin. "I thought it was supposed to be reindeer."

Ginny's smile grew wider. "That's what Muggles think. Muggles and people who've never seen Santa himself."

"Oh? Did I hear that right, George? Ginny thinks she's seen Santa," Fred said.

George's mouth dropped open. "I do believe she did," he said.

Ron looked up, his mouth hanging open. "You never told me you saw Santa!" he said, dropping his quill.

Ginny nodded, avoiding all three of her brother's gazes. She hadn't actually seen Santa, but she had heard the bells of his sleigh last year. It was more or less the same thing… wasn't it? Her stomach twisted again and she felt a tiny bit guilty about lying.

The guilt disappeared as soon as it came, however, when Fred said, "You would know how he gets down the chimney then, wouldn't you?"

"That's right, how does a fat, jolly old wizard fit down the chimney?" George said, pointing at the skinny, crooked, brick chimney of The Burrow.

Ginny concentrated on the chimney, thinking hard. How did Santa fit through there? She remembered asking her mother a few years ago but wasn't quite sure what it was. It was… a spell! It was a spell!

Sticking her tongue out at the twins, Ginny said, "He uses a spell to make himself lose lots and lots and lots of weight really quickly!"

Ron beamed at her and folded his arms triumphantly. "Yeah, he uses a spell," he said.

Fred went to grab the parchment off him again, causing Ron to scoot back and clutch his letter to his chest.

"Who makes all the toys?" George asked.

Feeling a little more confident, Ginny said, "Duh. The house-elves do. They help out Santa when he's busy."

"What about the people who don't have chimneys?" Fred asked, trying to snatch Ron's letter.

Ron leapt off his chair. Holding up his letter, he ran from the room yelling, "Mum!"

"He just uses magic," Ginny said, shrugging.

Fred sighed and took Ron's seat, muttering "Dibber-dobber," under his breath. Picking up Ron's quill, he began to draw on some of the parchment that was spread across the table.

George's eyes remained on Ginny, however, twinkling mischievously. Ginny gulped, not liking that look on his face. Whenever he or Fred wore that expression, it was usually when their mother couldn't yell at them for doing something because their father had told them they could.

"Ok, smarty pants, then explain this. How come we only get one or two presents each and that git Ceddie gets heaps?" George asked, smirking.

Fred leant across the table and hi-fived George.

Ginny froze, not sure what to say. The truth was, she didn't really know. Last year, Cedric Diggory had brought over some of his toys to show Fred, George and Percy—none of whom had wanted to know about the new toy broom he had gotten or the Wimbourne Wasps signed replica uniform he wore. Cedric had told them about everything Santa had brought him whilst pretending not to notice that the Weasley children had only received sweets, sweaters and a few home-made toys to share between them.

Ginny had thought that maybe they weren't all that good, that all of them misbehaved too much, or even that they weren't as important to Santa as other, nicer children. Fred and George were always pulling pranks on everyone. Charlie and Bill were always fighting and arguing. Only Percy was a good boy, and that was simply because he was afraid of getting into trouble. But then she had told herself that she was good—even when the twins had tried to flush her doll down the toilet last month, she hadn't wrecked any of their stuff or dobbed on them in return. She had still been nice to them and had not cried… much.

"That's what we thought," Fred said, slapping his hand against George's again.

Ginny drew in a deep breath and let it out very slowly. No, Santa did care about them and he did exist. "Maybe… Maybe that's because he can't give us all ten presents each, 'cause that would mean he has to make—" she said and held up her fingers, trying to count how many brothers she had, "—hundreds of presents!"

Fred stood and walked over to George, scratching his head. "She still thinks Santa is real, George," he said.

"I do believe you're right, Fred," George said, shaking his head sadly.

Ginny stamped her foot on the kitchen floor, glaring at them. "He is, too, real! He is!"

George and Fred smirked again, causing Ginny to stamp her foot once more.

"Sure he is," Fred said.

"We believe you," George said.

Growling, Ginny felt the urge to do what Ron did and call for her mother. _She_ would put a stop to the twin's lies. She would prove that Santa was real. She would—

As she was plotting to tell her mother, Ginny had allowed her gaze to roam around the kitchen. They had landed upon her father's latest Muggle find—an old camera—which he had yet to pull apart.

"Fine, I'll get proof!" Ginny said, smiling. "I'll get a photo of Santa when he comes next week."

The roar of laughter the twins let out was louder than any they had let out before. Ginny crossed her arms, challenging them to doubt her.

"She wants to—"

"—get proof—"

"—that Santa exists," the twins chortled, slapping their knees.

"I will! I'll get a picture and then you'll see," she said, turning away from them.

Walking over to the battered coat rack by the door, she snatched up the camera by its dirty leather strap and stormed out of the kitchen. She would get proof that Santa existed and then she would be the one laughing.

* * *

 _ **Christmas Eve**_

He was here. Santa was here. Here, in the tiny family room of The Burrow. Santa was here!

Ginny bounced from foot to foot, her hands trembling as she tried to hold the camera steady. She had come down just minutes earlier, the stairs squeaking under each step—louder than they did during the day when everyone was awake—no longer able to abstain from going to the toilet. She had made sure to drink six glasses of water before going to bed, knowing that she would wake up in time to catch Santa in action. Charlie had only recommended two glasses, but standing here now, Ginny was glad she had upped the odds.

Sucking in her breath, she listened to Santa putting down each present. His large bottom was facing her, clad in soft, red robes. Large black boots reflected the dying embers of the fireplace and a bell gently tingled with each movement he made. To his left, the plate of carrots and star-shaped gingerbread had been nibbled on, giving Ginny the urge to creep forward and ask Santa if he liked them.

Still, she resisted running inside and took just a small step forward instead. She would wait until Santa turned around and she could snap a picture of his face before she told him that she had been good that year.

Humming, Santa placed a wrapped item under the wiry Christmas tree and stood up. Stretching his back, he began to turn around.

This was it; her chance to get a photo. Her heart racing, Ginny lifted the camera up and pressed the button on top that Bill had shown her. The camera emitted a loud click and the room was bathed in a bright, white light.

Unfortunately, the flash didn't come quickly enough. Dropping the camera, her heart leaping to her throat, Ginny stared at the man before her. He was rubbing his eyes, but even so, there was no mistaking the tuft of red hair peeking out from under the hat he wore or the duck-patterned pyjamas showing from underneath the cloak.

"Ginny?" her father said, blinking.

Turning on her heel, Ginny fled from the room, stepping on the photograph of her surprised father that had fallen to the floor. Tears had begun to sting her eyes, and as she ran up the stairs to her bedroom, she didn't bother to choke back the sob.

George and Fred were right; Santa wasn't real.

* * *

 _ **Christmas Day**_

"Good morning, Ginny! Merry Christmas!" her mother said, patting a spot on the floor by the tree.

Her mother was smiling, but Ginny could tell that it was fake—sort of like the smiles Charlie would put on when he was forced to give Aunt Muriel a hug. Ginny shrugged and sat down on the opposite side of the tree, ignoring the worried look her mother shared with her father.

"About time, sleepyhead. We want to open presents," Fred said.

Nodding, George added, "Yeah, we want our presents!"

Their mother flapped her hand at them and gave both twins a small parcel. Ginny felt slightly guilty that everyone had been waiting for her, presents sitting expectantly in their laps, fingers poised on ribbons and parchment waiting to tear them open. It didn't make her feel nearly as bad, however, knowing that Santa hadn't given any of them those presents.

"Ginny, dear, here's one for you from… Santa," her father said, holding out a small package wrapped in red and green spotted paper.

Ginny took it, avoiding his gaze. "Thanks."

Her father cleared his throat and said, "Yes, well, alright Weasleys, are we ready? On the count of three, open your presents. Ready? One, two… three!"

As one, the entire family tore into their gifts, causing parchment, ribbon and Spello-tape to fly around the room. Several gasps of delight echoed around as jumpers, knitting needles, socks, sweets, new Exploding Snap card decks and a variety of other small items were pulled out.

Ginny took her time opening her gift. Inside, covered by a small box, was a miniature broom. Painted on the handle in tiny, golden letters were the words 'Cleansweep 1001.' She carefully lifted it out of the box stamped with the store's label and placed it on her outstretched palm, where it hovered. It was perfect and exactly what she had asked for… from Santa.

Sighing, Ginny put it back inside its box and put it to the side. Her mother, still smiling, placed another package in her lap. Lifting it up and feeling the parchment move about, Ginny could tell it was another sweater knitted by 'Santa.'

"Wow! An actual chess set! Look, look, all the pieces are here!" Ron shouted, nudging her in the side. "Wow! Santa must've have known I needed one."

Ginny looked at him, her heart clenching. Poor Ron! He still believed Santa was real. If only Ron knew that their father had bought it, remembering that Fred and George had given the garden gnomes many of the pieces of the family set to eat.

After a few more minutes of present giving and chocolate frogs hopping around the room, her mother announced, "Alright, time for everyone to go get dressed. Aunt Muriel has prepared a large breakfast and we all know she doesn't like to be kept waiting. Go on, off you lot go."

Ginny wasted no time in getting up, even when her brothers started complaining. Leaving her presents on the floor, she walked out of the room and began to ascend the narrow staircase. Great. No Santa; just a whole lot of Aunt Muriel and her baked vegetables for breakfast.

Heavy footsteps followed her out of the room, causing her to quicken her pace.

"Ginny, Ginny, Ginny, you took off in a hurry."

"Yeah, one might think that something was wrong."

"What's wrong Ginny?"

"Tell us, Ginny, what's wrong."

Ginny stopped on a step and swung around. Fred and George were behind her, each wearing identical grins. She knew better than to hope that they would give up.

"You were right! Santa doesn't exist, ok? It was just Dad pretending. Are you happy?" she said, her voice rising.

Fred and George looked at each other, their smiles fading. For a moment, Ginny thought that they were also devastated finding out that he wasn't real, part of her still hoping that she had been wrong.

"Oh, Ginny, Ginny, Ginny," Fred said, linking arms with her.

On her other side, George did the same, grinning. "We knew you were silly, but not that silly," he said.

Ginny huffed, allowing the twins to drag her up to the first landing. George let go and ducked into the twin's room, shutting the door behind him.

"Honestly, we were under the impression you were a little smarter than this," Fred said, turning to face her.

"What do you mean?"

George came rushing out of their room again, hiding something behind his back. With a wink at Fred, he said, "Santa does exist!"

Shaking her head, Ginny tried to push them both away. "No, he doesn't. It was Dad; I saw him myself."

Fred and George chuckled a little. Ginny looked from one to the other, growing annoyed. They were the ones who had told her that Santa didn't exist; why were they laughing at her?

"Dad was helping Santa, you ninny. You think all he does is tinker around at the Ministry?" George said, shaking his head.

"Nah, there's more to it, we just couldn't tell you," George said when Ginny nodded. "S'pose the secret's out now, though."

"Yep. Santa exists, part of the Ministry, in fact, all that secret stuff they've got going on. Dad was just helping him out," Fred said.

Narrowing her eyes, Ginny stared into both boy's faces. Now they were just being mean; why would she believe that her father was friends with Santa? He had never told them that before.

"You're lying."

Fred cocked his eyebrow at George, who smirked. "Did you hear that, George? She thinks we're lying to her."

"Our darling sister thinks we're lying, _tsk tsk_ ," George repeated. Then, pulling out a piece of creamy parchment from behind his back, he added, "Our dear sister, we may pride ourselves on being masters of mischief, but lying to our baby sister? No way."

Ginny pouted at the baby comment. She was only one year younger than Ron, and he still believed in Santa. Didn't knowing that Santa didn't exist make her a little more grown up now? Still, she accepted the parchment that George handed her and read it.

"Dear Ginny, Th—th…"

Sighing, Fred picked up the letter and read it for her. "Dear Ginny, Thank you for your Christmas letter. I hope you liked your—" he paused for a moment, mouthing something that looked like 'what?' at George.

George mouthed something back, but Ginny was too preoccupied with the letter. Santa had written to her?  
"Ahem, your presents. Please don't tell anyone that your dad helps me. Lots of love, Santa and his unicorns. Kiss kiss kiss," Fred finished, puckering his lips.

Ginny grabbed the letter back, looking at it. The writing was a little messy, but the parchment, with its gold border and the 'SC' monogram at the top, was fancier than she had ever seen. It really did look like it was from Santa.

"There? You see, Santa is real. Now, unless you want to be the one to sit next to Aunt Muriel's poodle at the table, we think you should go get ready."

Ginny ran her hand over the writing. Her eyes started to sting with tears, but this time she felt happy inside. Santa was real, and her dad was just his helper. Grinning up at the twins, she wrapped her little arms around them in a hug.

"Merry Christmas, Ginny," the twins said together, returning the hug.


End file.
